Mark

Being Mark's mother? I promise it is never boring.

(Or Braeden's, or Emma's for that matter.  Who knew being a mother was such an adventure?  I guess anyone who's ever been a mother.)

The other night we were at the church to view the broadcast of Elder Rasband for the youth.  Kids from our stake were there so Mark found some friends from school and sat by them.  He was in the row in front of me, down a ways.

And since Mark is forever fidgety and can't just sit still and listen, he soon started chatting with his friends.  He was too far away from me for me to get his attention.  Next to me were the girls Mark's age and then down the row there were some of the older girls, my laurels.  I wished I could get Larisa to poke Mark in the back to get his attention for me but she was too far away.  I didn't want to ask the younger girls, because I didn't want to make them uncomfortable.  Finally, Mark was bugging me too much, "Karlee!" I whispered, "Will you poke Mark's shoulder?"

She didn't hesitate.  She got his attention with conviction and then I remembered that although she is only twelve and the very definition of sweet and meek, she has brothers.

"Pay attention!" I hissed at Mark.  He sort of smiled at me and turned back around. 

Yesterday we had a meeting at the school with a counselor to discuss Mark's schedule and his future.  He had created his own schedule without our input (and employing forgery) and I wasn't happy that he was going to be TA.  I told the counselor and she said, "Are you interested in him doing something more...academic?"

Well, yes.

She asked him what his interests were.  She told about the business marketing class (which I thought he would love).  She said, "They learn about the stock market."

Mark fished his phone out of his pocket to show her his stock market app.  What seventh grade boy has a stock market app? The kid loves that kind of stuff.

"You would like this class," she told him.

And then, because he's one of my younger two children who are impossible to talk into things, he dug in his heels.  "I want to TA," he said stubbornly.  The counselor looked at me with an expression that could only be described as pity.

"Maybe you can still...discuss it," she said helpfully.

Mark looked at me and whispered, "Would you rather have me TA or play football?"

"TA!" I said.  Because as maddening as that child can be, I have no desire to watch him bash his head into other children.

So then Mark smiled.

I walked away from the meeting with no idea whether I won or lost.